


uncommitted sin

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Therapy Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 09:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12009972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “I think we should reschedule,” Bedelia says after yet another failed attempt to steer the conversation back to the desired direction, “Perhaps there is somewhere else you would rather be.”“The only place I would rather be is with you,” the words leave his lips before he can stop himself.





	uncommitted sin

Bedelia Du Maurier is displeased. He can tell by the blue flames in her eyes becoming brighter with each passing minute of their session. A session that has been far from productive. Every one of her precise questions is met with a tentative answer. She tries hard to engage him but to no effect.

Hannibal Lecter is sulking. He listens to her words, but his mind is too preoccupied. Preoccupied with consuming thoughts of her. It has been a month since she allowed him beyond the line he wanted to cross since the day she offered him the first glass of wine after their session. He had always hoped it would turn into something more, but had never persisted. The decision was hers to made and he waited patiently. Until that startling evening when she kissed him and took him to her bed. She offered no explanation and he did not need one. The hour in her arms had passed too quickly and he was sent away without a word.

Never one to succumb to clichés, Hannibal finally understood the meaning of the phrase “walking on air” as his heart grew euphoric. The images of her overshadowed every other in his memory palace as he anxiously awaited their next session.

Then the hour had finally arrived; there was conversation and there was wine. And nothing more. Hannibal was not discouraged. The fire set aflame within him was burning steadily.

The same thing happened, or rather did not happen, the following week. And the week after that. Always taking pride in his endless patience, Hannibal Lecter suddenly grew restless. Nothing could quiet his mind. No other lovers held his interest. None of them could compare to her.

And now the fire inside him was threatening to turn his mind and heart to ashes.

“I think we should reschedule,” Bedelia says after yet another failed attempt to steer the conversation back to the desired direction, “Perhaps there is somewhere else you would rather be.”

“The only place I would rather be is with you,” the words leave his lips before he can stop himself.

Bedelia’s eyes narrow, her lips are a tight line and Hannibal knows he spoke out of turn.

They spend the last ten minutes in silence; he is afraid to speak again, not wanting to make matters worse, she merely watches him like an animal that had cornered itself.

“Our time is up,” she barely glances at her watch. Hannibal gets up with visible apprehension, assuming he had forfeited his privilege of the glass of wine and preparing to leave.

“Red of white?” she asks and he stares at her with sudden wonder and relief.

“Red,” he manages to respond.

Bedelia returns with two glasses and they drink in silence; the pressure of their session still resonates in the air, now mingled with the other kind of tension between them. Hannibal looks at her, pupils dilated with lust, a pleading stare. Bedelia continues to sip her wine, but holds his gaze.

He takes a step closer, his frame rigid with the intensity of his need.

“May I?” an abrupt utterance; his manner is soft and polite, but he feels like a schoolboy courting his first crush; in a way, he is.

He awaits her rejection, but gets an unexpected nod of a head instead; it is barely noticeable, but it’s there. Hannibal puts his glass aside at once and places his hands on her hips. They slide slowly over the curve, before moving to her bottom, as he takes in the shape of her body through the fabric of her skirt.

“That’s enough,” she says suddenly and his hands falls away immediately, a crestfallen look on his face. Hannibal does not care to hide it or his growing erection. Bedelia ignores both. He was afraid this would happen.

He readies himself for departure (and a scalding shower at home), when she speaks again.

“Take off your jacket and sit,” she commands, motioning towards his usual chair. A surprising request, but Hannibal does not care, complying at once. Bedelia watches him for a moment as she finishes her wine. Then she sets down her glass and takes off her own jacket. Her steps seem slower than usual, as she walks towards him and he can do nothing but sit calmly.

She finally stops in front of him and places her knee between his legs. Hannibal’s heart begins to beat faster as she reaches behind him, her hands resting on the back of the chair, her face mere inches from his. She tilts her head to one side, curiously observing his shallow breaths and how the lust darkens his eyes. One of her hands shifts to rest on his chest; elegant fingers undo his tie, then move to the buttons of his shirt. Hannibal waits patiently, allowing her to take her time. She can do whatever she pleases with him.

“You may touch me,” she says at last, as her fingers playfully trail the hair on his chest.

His hands are surprisingly steady when they linger for a brief moment, in case she changes her mind, before wandering up her waist through her silk blouse. Bedelia’s breath becomes sharper as he reaches her breasts and teases them through the fabric. He slowly unbuttons the blouse and slips it off her shoulder, admiring her full breasts framed by the lace bustier.

Bedelia leans forward and kisses him, her mouth pressing firmly against his, tongue brushing his lips, heady taste of the wine still present and he can do nothing else but groan. He pulls her closer, his own kiss desperate and insistent and she finally gives in with a sigh of her own.

All restrain forgotten, his mouth moves down to her chest, having done away with her undergarment in one swift movement. He wraps his lips around her nipple and sucks; Bedelia moans when his teeth graze over it.

She pulls away to lift her skirt, her underwear discarded, and then sits astride his thighs. The scent of her becomes more intense and is so intoxicating; he wants, _needs_ , to taste her, but knows she won’t allow him that tonight. Instead his hand slides up her thigh, his two fingers tracing the outline of her swollen lips, before slipping inside her. A murmur of need leaves her mouth as he teases her before withdrawing his fingers. He brings them to his lips, savouring this tiny sip of her.

Bedelia reaches between them to undo his belt and then his zipper. Freeing his length from the confinements of his pants, she runs her hand over the velvety skin, making him whimper; his self-control is now gone completely. He is at her mercy.

She finally takes him in, slowly, with a deep moan as she relishes the feeling. Hannibal closes his eyes, revelling in the sensation of her tight walls surrounding him. She begins to move, a measured rhythm, and Hannibal opens his eyes, looking up. He is enamoured by the sight of her, a goddess straddling him, one he is permitted to worship once more. She remains flawless, save for one loose strand of hair falling over her eyes and her cheeks slowly turning a brighter shade of pink.

Her eyes meet his; they are dark and a full of lust, perfectly mirroring his own. She holds his gaze and tilts her breast towards his mouth, allowing him to lick and kiss as her pace increases in passion.

Pressure begins to build between them and Hannibal groans, his head nestled between her breasts, his hands on her hips, keeping her pressed against him. He feels his release coming, but holds himself back, until she finds her fulfilment first.

Finally, her head falls back and she comes hard around him, nails digging into his shoulders. He is right behind her, the staccato sound of their mutual pleasure filling the sombre walls of her office.

His arms remain wrapped around her as they linger in the delectable haze and he is reluctant to let her go, wishing to stay with her longer. But the gentle pressure of her hands on his arms tells him the moment is over.

She lifts herself up and picks up her blouse, covering herself. She buttons it up in silence, giving him time to dress and compose himself.

His clothes back in order, Hannibal stands up and puts his jacket on, holding the tie in his hand.

Bedelia’s appearance is impeccable once more; the heavy air and her loose hair strand being the only indicator of their moments of passion.

“I will see you next Friday,” she brushes the strand back in place. There is no mention of what had just passed between them.

Hannibal swallows his feelings and leaves. It is the most pleasurable kind of torture, one he will willingly submit to over and over again, until she is his. Hannibal smiles to himself as he walks towards his car. _Only his_.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a quote "The thought of you consumes me like an uncommitted sin" by Vàzaki Nada, so very them.  
> I firmly believe that they were intimate long before Europe (so does Mads, so I am in great company), but how it came to be and how often did it happen is anyone's guess. I can write five more fics and each of them could have a different scenario.  
> Hannibal had no other lovers while he was with her, no matter how casual it was. Bedelia wanted Hannibal as much as he wanted her, but she was so much better at hiding it.
> 
> Feedback is love, make a girl happy. ♥


End file.
